The Sword in the Darkness
by Ramzes
Summary: Lyanna Stark has always wanted to be a knight and well, every knight needs a monster. Warning: Rhaegar and Lyanna fans might not enjoy this.
1. Harrenhal

**The Sword in the Darkness**

 _Harrenhall_

They said the Dornish princess was beautiful.

Lyanna questioned people's vision.

Elia Martell was a pale, ghostly thing who would not last an hour in the saddle. Lyanna could see that she was naturally dark and perhaps under the sun, there would be some beauty to her but the life at Dragonstone that was rumoured to be an extremely dark place where light barely reached had sucked the colour off her, lending her skin some grayish tone that was different from the fair complexion of the ladies who had been born further north.

And vastly different from her husband's fair skin, glowing with health and vitality.

They said Elia Martell was possessed of wit.

Lyanna wondered if they had any idea what wit was. She had seen the woman rewarding serving girls. She never gave them one bigger coin, just many small ones.

They said the Princess of Dragonstone was delicate, that she was still recovering from the ordeal that was childbirth, exacerbated by her the new babe that she was carrying.

Delicate? What a twisted dance around the truth!

Lyanna wondered if this was what southern ladies did with their time. Perhaps if they wasted less of it on sweets and meaningless chattering, and tedious sewing, they would have had more time to go out and breathe some health. She had never heard of a woman who was as weak as to lie around for six months – six _months_! – after giving birth. The Stranger that Elia Martell believed in had taken mercy on her. It was her own weakness that had rendered her useless for so long.

They said the future queen was a good and gracious lady.

Lyanna wondered why did anyone put so much weight on being a lady.

Elia Martell was supreme amidst all these women who smiled and chattered, and traded gossip which was mainly untrue as they gathered together to supposedly do embroidery and other women's pastime. Lyanna had never mastered this skill and she ended up with her hands bleeding every day but she would have suffered it gladly if she did not detest the complex social play of discreet asking for favours so much. Why couldn't these women go straight to the problem? Why did they need to drown everything in a sea of useless niceties? Lyanna could see clearly that Elia Martell was often exhausted, that she was in no mood to listen, that she only wanted to retire and go to sleep but never did. _Come on, come on, just do it_ , Lyanna urged silently _. You're the Princess! Why don't you do what you want – what you need? Tell them to go away or just rise and walk out._ But the Dornishwoman never did, this making herself even weaker and paler in her quest to play the great lady. The perfect princess. And Lyanna was supposed to admire _this_?

They said Prince Rhaegar was very happy with his lady wife.

Happy? With these big sad eyes?

How could he be? Lyanna had seen the pair together at the table. He was talking to her in a low voice and she was shaking her head impatiently, barely listening and gulping the content from her goblet like there was no tomorrow.

Was there any doubt as to why he was sad? Being wed to someone who did not appreciate him, did not even notice him? As he sang his touching song in the hall and all the women wept, Lyanna stole a look over the hundreds of heads at the dais and caught the moment when Elia Martell closed her eyes, the tiredness and boredom on her face obvious before she erased them.

This was the moment Lyanna felt the first tears prickle her own eyes. Tears of compassion. Rhaegar Targaryen, as chivalrous and great a knight as there ever was, deserved something better than a cold, weak wife who could not appreciate her incredible happiness at being wed to him – even without taking the crown he would one day offer her into account!

And still, there was this moment, just one moment when Lyanna's compassion changed directions. When the laurel of blue roses was extended towards her, she imagined how she would have felt in Elia Martell's place… The feeling was not a good one.

In the dead silence hanging around a stunned, smileless crowd, she glanced at Elia Martell. The Dornishwoman sat frozen in her place, horror and grief fighting in her but neither feeling was strong enough to propel her from her chair, make her fly at her husband and Lyanna, scream, try to slap them, or even turn her back on the scene of her humiliation. This meek little thing was just asking for humiliation, letting Rhaegar do with her whatever he wished!

Completely unworthy of someone as valuing courage as Prince Rhaegar. Lyanna reached for the flower crown and wondered why her hands would not take her when taking it was all she wanted.

This night, she had the fantasy for the very first time, right before she went to sleep. A gleaming sword, much like the one Rhaegar Targaryen had wielded this day, cutting the darkness and severing the chains holding the Prince captive to the monster that had come in the form of a pale woman with swollen belly. A hand setting him free. Vaguely, Lyanna recognized the hand.

It was her own.


	2. Proud Lady in a Cage

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The Sword in the Darkness

 _Proud Lady in a Cage_

"Pray for your lady mother, child," someone had said at the time. One of the maidservants? It had been so long, Lyanna had now almost forgotten. She remembered trying to pray for a while but she did not think she had finished. She had been a small child, unable to understand how grave her mother's state was.

But she prayed for Elia Martell like she had never done before. As the tourney became a distant memory, unraveling just like her crown, the news that the Dornish princess might die in the birthing bed had shaken her badly. She barely remembered Elia – and to her surprise, she barely remembered Prince Rhaegar when awake – but she remembered how she had disdained her for her frailty. It had never occurred to her that Elia might actually die in her next childbed. If such a thought had ever occurred to her, she would have likely thought that Elia would stay alive just to torment Rhaegar further. But now, when the Dornishwoman might die for real, Lyanna felt guilty. She had never truly wished Elia harm, she had just wished for her to disappear – but not like this.

When Rhaegar approached her, a few leagues from Harrenhal, she tried to remember this but it was so hard. With him so very close, her resentment surged forth. Elia who had almost lost her life giving him an heir was not here for her to pity but he was. And he told her everything that she had wanted to hear – that he offered her the freedom to choose her own fate, that she was the only one to him, that one day, their child would be the savior of the world as they knew it.

Well, perhaps not _this_. Really, the savior of the world? It was nice of him to have concocted such a story that would resonate with her longing to make the world a more just place but he did not really expect that she'd believe this, did he?

When she realized that he did… But before this, there was the joy, although reality made some faint attempts to interject. Lyanna had thought that in Dorne, women were free to love freely but if Ser Arthur Dayne's look was anything to go by, this freedom did not extend to her loving his princess' husband. She had thought that by "going to Dorne", Rhaegar had meant to show her the strongholds and even the desert where they could see a sand warrior if they were in luck. But instead, they were locked together in a tower that after the first week Lyanna realized they were not going to leave. "I can't let you go," Rhaegar said when she stomped her foot and demanded that she be left to leave.

It took him some time to convince her but after all, Lyanna loved him, did she not? It was even romantic that he wanted to keep her his and here forever… or at least for a few weeks. Few weeks were just this – few weeks. But since this moment, something changed. Lyanna hated lies and although he had not lied to her, he had known what she had thought he meant. As much as she tried not to, she was losing her faith in him and told him so in no uncertain means when he caught her eavesdropping on the Kingsguard conversation. His reproaches about how unworthy this was of a lady sounded just like her father's!

"You didn't tell me that Dorne was going to hate you," she said accusingly because she was not about to sit down and accept his accusations when he had pushed her into it in the first place. "You told me that they always have your back."

"They do," he assured her. "Or they will."

"How are you going to win them over? By hiding?" Lyanna asked dubiously but he offered to practice swords with her and soon this last unpleasant exchange was forgotten.

The longer she stayed in this tower, the more powerful the dreams became. They scared her and shamed her. Sometimes, she was still the sword in the darkness releasing Rhaegar from his chains – but these were not the truly terrible ones. The ones she feared were where she became a plague. Somehow. She became a plague and killed Elia Martell, so she and Rhaegar could live happily ever after. She was even ready to rear Elia's children, that was how much she loved him. Other times, she killed all three of them. What was she turning into? Fear shook her so badly that she would wake up, thankfully in a world where she was no murderess, just Rhaegar's future second wife. His one true love.

When she realized that the child he was talking about was going to arrive not in a few years but soon, she felt a flicker of alarm. Without giving it a conscious thought, she knew that Rhaegar had planned it this way. She would never see the desert now. Never again would she ride at tourneys. She would become something like Elia Martell, although she would never be quite this frail and weak! And then, the chilling realization. Everything that Rhaegar had been planning was already a fact. He had said that he would take her, and he had. He had said that they would have a child, and they were on their way to. He was planning for a future of world-destroying clashes and a hero child, just like he had told her. _He must believe it,_ Lyanna thought, looking around wildly. _He really must._

What had she brought herself into in her quest for freedom? In her pursue of love? The worst thing was that she was smart enough to realize that she could not escape. Not with three Kingsguard here. Not with this tower being in the middle of nowhere. Not with no money. Not with not knowing the way back because she had been too busy staring at the scenery – and Rhaegar. Fool, what a fool!

She now had to sit around and wait for her father and brothers to find her – and deal with the mortifying experience of explaining herself to them. Still, she could not wait. She loved Rhaegar, she did – but gentle madness was still madness. People said that at the time, the madman whom she had seen at Harrenhall had been as charming as Rhaegar.

As strange as she was, the more she started fearing Rhaegar, the more violent the dreams in which she released him from his bonds became.


	3. A World of Shadows

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The Sword in the Darkness

 _A World of Shadows_

Lyanna could not say when she stopped waiting for her father and brothers to come and save her. Every day, the chance of people remembering that they saw her and in which direction she went became smaller. If they had not come at the fourth moon of her stay here, they were less likely to come in the fourteenth, not more.

Why did she think she'd be still here in ten moons? She did not know. But with every day, the feeling that this would happen grew and it no longer provoked the same disgruntlement. After all, in a month or two she'd be unfit to travel. Surely Rhaegar would not decide to take her out _then_.

She had yet to feel the child but after the first instinctive horror, the thought that it was there, inside her, made her unusually docile, feeling that her doubts had been silly. Rhaegar was her fate and she was his. What a stronger bond between a man and a woman who loved each other could there be than a child? The fearful dreams were still there but they had lost their demonic power because she now knew what would happen. For the first time since she had headed off with him, she could see concrete, real steps for their future. Of course she would not kill Elia Martell! Why had she even taken these dreams seriously? She, Lyanna Stark? Kill a woman? Or a woman and two children? What a ridiculous notion! Still, a worry shot through her sometimes as she sat watching the men practice – of course, she now had no wish to ask them practice with her, she had a babe to keep safe! – and putting her dreams in order. Rhaegar might believe that their children would save the world but he did not know what Lyanna felt for sure: this first child that she was carrying would be a Northern pup, not a dragon from the south. Even when she was at her most tired and lazy, she did not forget it. She could hardly wait for her pup to arrive, so she could start teaching him the Northern ways before they were brought to court…

But then, the man arrived in full gallop, his horse almost dying under him, and the news he carried were so dark that Lyanna only screamed and screamed until her voice lacerated her throat so cruelly that it would take weeks for it to heal. She fell asleep to Rhaegar's arms and assurances that everything would get better and in her exhaustion, she believed him.

A few days later, she did not.

"I don't care about your plans and talks about safety," she said angrily. "This far, nothing of the things you told me has come true. Why should I believe that I'm safer here? I want to go home. That's where I belong."

"This isn't going to stop the war," Rhaegar pointed out. "It'll only endanger you."

She stared at him, wondering if he were this stupid. "I know this," she said impatiently. "I am not trying to stop the war. My place is at home."

He cupped her chin, making her look him in the eye. "Your place is with me."

Lyanna tossed her head to make him release her which he did. She shook her head. "It isn't anymore."

He ran his fingers through his hair. "Listen, I'll make up, I promise. It was a most unfortunate thing that happened but…"

"A most unfortunate thing?" Lyanna repeated, her lacerated throat vibrating, her voice propelled by a new wave of rage. "A most unfortunate thing? This was _murder_!"

"I know and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'll try to make it as painless as possible for you…"

She snorted. "You're already late!" she reminded him. "And you can forget about doing things for me. If you haven't done that first thing, they'd be still alive. I don't want anything from you – and I'm not going to wed you, I'll let you know!"

The surprise in his eyes made her feel some angry delight. It did not help much but it was better than nothing, so she went on, "Forget about your prophesied children! I never believed in this tale anyway and the only way you can have them from me is to rape me – I believe you won't go this low?"

He shook his head. "I can't believe we're having this conversation."

"I can't believe my father and brother are dead either," Lyanna shot back. "And for what? I am not this infatuated with the idea of being your queen, you know!"

"My queen?"

"Yes – after you set the Dornishwoman aside. How much time did you think it would take to settle the matter of succession?"

He was staring at her with such surprise that she wanted to slap him. Did he really think her this stupid? Had he believed that she believed in him this much that she thought he'd be able to do this in a day?

The silence stretched and all of a sudden, Lyanna felt uncomfortable. It was a very peculiar feeling because her rage had not gone down a notch.

"You expected that I would set my wife aside and disinherit our children for the one you would give me?" Rhaegar finally asked in an odd, strangled voice.

"The ones I would give you!" Lyanna corrected him fiercely. "Did you not tell me that you needed three?"

Her eyes gave her the answer and she shuddered. Yes, he had. Yes, he had… Only, he had failed to mention that he thought Elia Martell's children were part of the prophecy. He had not expected more children from her – he already had them!

The anger that had shrunken the room just to Rhaegar's face flickered and died, replaced by primal horror. She had started making plans, building expectations… and she had forgotten that none of the things she had thought about the two of them before had happened the way she had envisioned them. "I have a question to ask of you," she started in a voice that was so calm that Rhaegar cast her a look of surprise. "You intend to set Elia of Dorne aside, wed me and make my son the heir to the Iron Throne, do you not?"

"Is this what you have been thinking?" he asked back in a voice that was as calm as hers.

Lyanna hesitated. In the beginning, it had not been this. She had had no idea just how their love would shape their lives. But as the babe had started becoming real for her, expectations had cleared out. She had believed that by children of prophecy, he meant their children – he had certainly never spoken about Elia's! He was well aware that she would never accept being one of two wives – even Elia of Dorne would be hardly as spineless as to take this humiliation calmly. She would likely try to poison Lyanna and her babe if she was allowed to stay at court. Rhaegar couldn't have thought that she'd accept being a mistress, right? Her, a daughter of Winterfell? When she could offer him far more than Elia Martell even in terms of politics? He could not expect that she'd settle for her children being less?

He could not. He did not. And yet…

"I'm sorry but I've never had such intentions," Rhaegar finally said and she gave him a blank look.

"What?"

"I did intend to take you to wife," he said, strangely aloof. "Truly. But I had no idea that you had _these_ plans." He paused. "I should have known. I was looking for a mother for Visenya – and Visenya was all but a good stepmother, always seeking to advance her own son."

The accusation stunned her speechless. What did he mean? Rumours had it that Visenya had _killed_ her stepson!

Rhaegar was looking at her just like she thought she was looking at him, as if he were trying to bring pieces together and make them fit. She wondered if this was the same Rhaegar Targaryen whom she had loved, paying for this love so dearly. He, too, looked at her in bewilderment.

"I was wondering about the details," he said. "But you gave me the answer. My children will be raised together – by someone who can be a mother and queen both."

The shriek did not quite leave Lyanna's throat. She stared at him, praying that she had not heard right. He could not mean that he'd throw her away, could he? Take her child and throw her away?

"I had many notions about you, my lady," he said mournfully. "All of them wrong. I'm glad we came clear, though. I had no idea that you have arranged my plans for me. I knew you hated my wife but I had no idea just how strong this hatred ran. An heir by you! As jealous and rapacious as you… I will not countenance such upbringing. Once my daughter is born, you'll be free to return to your brothers – and Lord Robert if he'd take you. He still might – like me, he seems to have loved an illusion."

Loved? If he had loved her, he would have never thought these things about her. He would have never thought of taking her child and giving it to his wife to raise. At this moment, Lyanna realized that the chains she had dreamed of freeing him from were not on his hands and feet – they were on hers. She had placed them there. Her father and Brandon had died, so she could shackle herself.

"You're a monster," she said, still in this eerily calm voice. "And you have never loved me. The worst thing is, you don't love her either. You don't have it in you. If you think I'll let my child grow with two people who won't love him…"

"You seem to think you have any say, my lady, but you don't. I make the decisions. You're staying here for now. Later, I'll think of something."

He left to the clatter of the jug Lyanna threw at him, hitting the door instead. The sound made her startle, bringing reality to her in sharp relief.

She was a prisoner of the man she loved. Only valued for the child that would be taken from her as soon as it arrived.

Her father and Brandon were dead. Ned could meet the same fate, and Robert as well – and she had never wished for him to die.

There was a war. A war that would likely be blamed on her because no one would believe that the woman was not to blame. Had she not blamed it all on Elia Martell?

Darkness encroached her from all sides and she barely made it to the bed before – "No, I'm not swooning. I've never swooned in my life!", she thought before she did.


	4. In the Company of Fear

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The Sword in the Darkness

 _In the Company of Fear_

The first few days after Rhaegar's leaving were a blur of weeping and cursing – weeping for her father, for Brandon, for her own naivete, for Ned and Ben who might still meet death, Robert whom she had just been unwilling to wed, for the war that she had never had any intention to start and cursing Rhaegar, his lies, and his prophecy – unless it was part of his lies. Gods, she had thrown her lot in with a man that she did not know well enough to know even this – if he believed in what he had talked to her for months in a row. Fool, fool, fool! About a week later, the hardest day came. The day she could not even raise her head from the pillow, choking on her own sobs. She almost didn't go to the privy when she needed to because the way there – all through the bedchamber and then a little further down the hall – looked so long. She actually thought that wetting herself was a better idea than making the effort to rise and walk the distance.

When she woke up, her pillow was soaked all the way through but the pain had gathered into an ice block in her heart. As big as it was, it no longer consumed her and left room for other feelings. Thoughts. Fears. As the babe kicked, she felt the fear advancing, crawling up her calves and thighs, cling to her like a second skin. She did not particularly care if she lived or died – in fact, she was quite sure that death would be a mercy compared to facing her brothers – but she wanted this babe to live. If the rebels won, it would – but if not? If Rhaegar came up the victor? If he took their child from her and gave it to his barren wife to raise, replacing the one she could never give him? Lyanna might not be adept at politics but she knew that no queen liked her husband fathering a child on a woman from a House more prominent than her own. If Rhaegar believed in his prophecy, he'd think that their babe's safety was guaranteed. But why should Elia Martell believe this? Lyanna certainly did not! And if Elia did not believe it, she would have no reason to tolerate Lyanna's babe… All the stories she had heard of Dornish vengefulness, Dornish jealousy, Dornish treasons sprang to her mind. Elia belonged to the people who had killed the Young Dragon under a peace banner! Just how many humiliations would she suffer before she acted on her spite? Lyanna remembered Elia's stunned horror at Harrenhal and knew that the other woman had not forgotten. What if she knew about Lyanna's expectations that she and her children would be displaced in favour of Lyanna and her own children? Rhaegar had looked so disappointed in his cruel mistress - he might have gone running to his wife and blabbered out everything in his attempts to gain her forgiveness. A Dornishwoman, a Martell, a mother who certainly wanted to have her son as king would surely give it with her lips if not her heart… Elia would not dare vent her hatred on Rhaegar – would she dare unleash it on Lyanna's babe? No. At least not openly. But a babe's life was so fragile. And Rhaegar, believing his prophecy, would never think to protect their child from his wife.

 _Weak people become cruel when they have power,_ Martyn Cassel often said. Lyanna prayed that it would not be the case for Elia Martell but she could not be sure. Especially if the other woman knew.

If the rebels won, her child would be safe. But they would not. Lyanna almost regretted her father's way of looking at the other side when she crept closer to the knights talking about battles… and politics. He had told her not to do it, that eavesdropping did not befit a lady but she had always known when he meant it and when he meant, "Don't let me catch you doing it again"… and her tears would start flowing again. She would wipe them away angrily but she could not drive the voices from the past away. The rebels were just less numerous. They would lose the war – and their leaders, their lives? This thought was unbearable but the prospect of giving up the child stirring in her to Rhaegar and the Dornishwoman was just as horrible.

Now, when Rhaegar was no longer here to fascinate and terrify her, she started looking at her surroundings – and she was startled to realize that among her attendants, there was not a single Dornishwoman. No Dornish cooked their food, washed their linens, took care of the horses. The feeling of being trapped rose to a feverish level. There could be only one reason to go on with the trouble of transporting stormslanders all this long way: no Dornish could be trusted to keep their mouth shut, no matter the amount of the bribe. Nothing could make it clearer to her how hated she was in Dorne where she was stranded. And that was without her ever having done anything to them! How could she put any trust in Elia Martell's goodwill? Or Rhaegar's, if he changed his mind about the prophecy once again? She beat herself with the belated realization that she should have known as soon as he told her. He had changed his mind once. Why not again?

Too little, too late.

Her jailors, otherwise known as the Kingsguard, were no more happy with the situation than she was. She could say. They wanted to be away – everyone in a different place! Another tale that she had admired all her life was unraveling right in front of her. Ser Gerold often spoke of how much he wanted to be in King's Landing. Oswell Whent did not disagree but he did not agree either. In fact, he was being uncharacteristically silent. Arthur Dayne spent all the hours he had for himself – which were quite a lot – staring over the mountains, in the distance where the road to Starfall cut through the green. In a strange way, he wanted to be home just as much as Lyanna and she could not understand why he would not just do it.

When she asked him about this, he just laughed without any merriment. "Even if I wanted to, do you think I'd be welcome? I'd rather not go there at all, instead of being turned down. House Dayne has been unflinching in their loyalty to House Martell for hundreds of years."

Before a white knight had chosen a silver prince over a dark-haired princess. He did not quite say it but there was no need. With rising despair, Lyanna realized that her child would likely have an enemy in him as well – if Elia Martell wished so. And her intention to ask him what the Dornish princess was like, if she was indeed as gracious as people came, if she would hold the sins of parents against a child died in her throat, along with all the other words that she could not say because there was no one to hear her. They would all listen to her but this was not the same thing.

The rebels just had to win.


	5. Lost in the Woods

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The Sword of Darkness

 _Lost in the Woods_

When she heard about Rhaegar's death, she laughed, triumph and satisfied vindictiveness finally making this grey day of imprisonment brighter than any other that she had spent here, even the first ones when she had been still in love – because there was clarity now. Openness. No deceptions on anyone's part and no delusions on her own. Ser Gerold and Ser Oswell stared at her, aghast, but she shrugged their opinion away as she kept laughing. She would do them the courtesy that they had never done her – not hide anything. When had they ever seen a wolf hiding, pretending?

At least, she would give them what of her feelings could make its way to the surface because her desire to weep was also a very real one. No matter the wrong Rhaegar had done her, he had been the first man in her life. Her babe's father. She had loved him or, rather, she had loved what she had thought she saw in him. She was surprised that the death of a wielder of illusions could hurt almost as a real loss. But when the two emotions collided, triumph and the feeling of justice served took precedence, squashing grief into a place of her heart where it could be easily ignored. Where it belonged, actually. Slowly, in a matter of days, relief spread over her, elation giving way to soft contentment. Her babe was now free of Rhaegar's plans and designs. No prophecy would touch his life – oh yes, Lyanna was now sure that it was a boy; the Seven Rhaegar believed in had already meted out their justice. They would not let him triumph in death as they had in life. Her babe would grow up happy, no matter what happened to her. Ned would make it so, Lyanna was sure. Things were finally falling back in place…

Until the news of the sack arrived.

She felt the first shiver of horror the moment she saw the knights' faces; she almost wept when she heard the whole story, for despite Ser Gerold's attempt to spare her the details, Ser Arthur insisted that she should know – she could practically read his thoughts and they ran along the lines of, _Well, if she was strong enough to make the decision to run away with Princess Elia's husband, it certainly won't break her to hear what came of it, for the Princess included_. But Lyanna did not care for the Princess this much, not when she heard the rest of it. Yes, Elia Martell had not deserved what happened to her. No one did. The smallfolk had not deserved the massacre Tywin Lannister's men had committed either – but it was when Lyanna heard about the children that she almost threw up. The squashed head… How Robert had reacted… and here, she really threw up, the babe in her womb kicking wildly, picking on her distress. "Robert will regret this," she managed to say somehow after wiping her mouth in her gown for the lack of any other cloth. "Ned will make him pay… he has already parted ways with him…"

The three men stared at her the way her father had used to do when despairing of her, with all his irritation and none of his affection. "My lady," Ser Gerold finally said. "Your brother has not truly parted ways with Robert. He went to fight the last battles for him. They are still together in this. They will arrive here together."

Finally, Lyanna got herself under control and refused to discuss the matter with them because they did not _know_. They had served a madman for so long that they had forgotten there were still men who had principles. No matter the cost, Ned would do the right thing. He would not support a murderer of babes. No!

This night, she fell asleep dreaming of a soft silver head hitting the wall with a wet sound as the screams of a woman filled the chamber… a dream that would keep repeating many times a night, every night, an image that consumed even her days when she learned that Ned was indeed still committed to _their_ cause. His cause with Robert. As much as it hurt her, Lyanna had to consider the possibility that he no longer had any joint cause with her but her mind simply refused to take it. Instead, she caught herself making excuses more and more often. What good would punishing Tywin Lannister achieve? The massacre was a fact and perhaps if Elia Martell had bothered to learn some basic mastery of a mere dagger, she could have held her attackers off just for a little while, until help arrived. The Seven were supposed to protect weak and innocent. Elia Martell had certainly been weak, so had she been innocent? Lyanna rummaged through her mind to find any occasion indicating the opposite but just because she could not, it did not mean that it was not true. Rhaegar, in his madness, had barely seen anything but his prophecy. A smart and cunning woman could have played him like he had played his harp and that was likely what Elia Martell, a Dornishwoman, had done. She must have had, because else, the Seven would have let an innocent suffer and Lyanna would have been party to this, however inadvertently – and this, she could not bear, even if Elia Martell was… had been so weak as to let Rhaegar walk all over her without saying a word.

Ned and Robert could not have let Rhaegar's heirs live it they wanted to have peace, ever. It was horrible but this was the truth. At this thought, Lyanna's hand always crept to her belly to reassure herself of the strong movements of her own babe. She shuddered at the thought that had Rhaegar come around to his initial intentions to wed her, this child could have shared Rhaenys and Aegon's fate. As it was, his salvation lay in his bastard status. Robert was many things but stupid, he was not. He might have said some things in the heat of the moment but he had not really meant them. Even in the throes of love, Lyanna had never wished for these children's deaths and she felt sure that he had never wished for this either. Why would he punish a babe who might carry the Targaryen blood but not the name? Why would Ned let him do such a thing to his own nephew? It had been different with Elia Martell's children – they would have always been a genuine threat. But Lyanna's bastard?

At night, she lay awake in her bed, poring over the mistakes Elia Martell had made. She had accepted the humiliation Rhaegar had heaped upon her without protesting, thus basically inviting him to heap some more; she had been so fragile that she had literally forced him to seek another woman for this madness of prophecy that he lived for when she had become barren after barely giving birth to a second child; she had stayed in the Red Keep weeping, instead of bribing whomever she needed to escape when she had not been kept in a tower and served by so few people that any attempt of bribery would be doomed to fail. These were the things that had eventually led to her children's deaths and her own. It would be different with Lyanna – it was already different! Rhaegar had certainly told someone that she no longer wanted him. Ned would know. Somehow, he would. She had severed her cuts to Rhaegar and this would be taken into account. "Don't worry, babe," she whispered, smoothing a hand over her belly. "You're going to be fine. We're going to be fine."

When the thought came upon her that it had not been a matter of mistakes but luck, that Elia Martell and her children had simply been terribly unlucky, she pushed it away with all her mind. They would have been unlucky anyway but she was not ready to admit this. If things had gone the way she had initially thought she would, just how long of life would Aegon have had? At one point or another, she might have been forced to deal with him and this thought made her feel sick. Only very rarely did she allow herself the luxury of admitting that since the moment she had first seen Rhaegar Targaryen, she had heaped fantasy upon fantasy, lie upon lie, dream upon dream, justifying along the way until she had gotten lost in the woods, with no moral path to lead her out of it.

 **The End**

 **A. N. In case anyone wonders, I based this on the bit of Lyanna dying as she still held on what basically everyone assumes was the crown of winter roses Rhaegar gave her. She was clearly fine with the public way Rhaegar humiliated Elia for her, as she carried the crown with her wherever she went, presumably to relive this glorious moment over and over. My take on this is that no matter what virtues she might have had, she had no respect for another woman's (Elia's) dignity and was quite happy to trample over it to get what she wanted – and she clearly wanted Rhaegar, for whatever reasons. I see no reason to believe that it just never crossed her mind that Rhaegar had a wife who might not be OK with their great love story. This is not to say that she was not deceived and taken advantage of, or that she was in any way to blame for the war - but this isn't the same as presenting her as a pure soul who had no idea that she might be harming others.  
**


End file.
